Come Now, Ride With Me!
by Midnight in the Owlery
Summary: Even thirty years after Sauron's fall, the roads are dangerous for a young hobbit. Sam's son can't resist the call of adventure, even with the rumors of evil creatures on the prowl. But his traveling companions may not offer him safety if one of them is a murderer.
1. Strange As News From Bree

"Take these, Bob." The portly man rushing up to me thrust a stack of plates as tall as I was toward me. I stretched my arms out and struggled to keep my balance as the weight of the dishes strained my arms. "The old man by the fireplace gets the pudding and the fish. The mutton goes to those two dwarves with the tangled beards. The rest goes to that great big table by the bar. That's Fornosters for you, always eating, always carrying those great big sticks to knock each other on the head with, if rumors are true. Regular cave trolls they are."

I opened my mouth to speak but I couldn't interrupt the flow. I could only push forward as the man bounced back toward the sweltering kitchen. "Get on with you, Bob. And keep up with their drinks. I have enough to worry about wi'out hearing them bangin' their mugs."

His rotund frame disappeared. I spluttered after him. "Mr. Butterbur, sir. Mr. Butterbur? Does this mean that I'm hired? And I'm not Bob. It's Gamgee - Frodo Gamgee - Sam Gamgee's son."

I received no reply more than the whistle of a kettle and the banging of cupboard doors. Not daring to set down my tower of china, I staggered on to the Common Room, where a buzz of raucous gossip and raspy laughter filled my ears. The sounds slowly died, and I felt two dozen pairs of eyes fixating on me. I felt my face turning red, creeping right into my curly hair. The Prancing Pony was a renowned institution and the only inn in the crossroads town of Bree. Barleyman Butterbur's hiring of new help had to be a right notable event.

"For you, sirs." I positioned my stack of plates with a clunk on the edge of the dwarves' table. I have always been fascinated by the strange, gruff-looking race, and I had sometimes seen them pass through the Shire with twinkling eyes and footsteps that seemed unexpectedly light. Never had I approached one though. Here were two. I attempted to extricate their plates of mutton from the stack without sending anything else crashing to the floor.

The dwarf with the red beard stared curiously. "How old are you, lad?"

"Twenty-seven years," I mumbled. I kicked myself with my own bare foot for that. I can never remind myself enough that I'm Sam Gamgee's son. Samwise the Brave wouldn't mind speaking up, so why should I? I straightened my back and cleared my throat. "I am twent…" The black-bearded dwarf's glare caught me off guard and my voice trailed off again. Scars stood out on his hands as he carved the mutton with a long jagged knife.

"Twenty-seven," Redbeard repeated thoughtfully. "Why among hobbits, you're just a lad."

Blackbeard drummed his mug once on the tabletop. "More beer."

I gulped. Picking up the plates, I danced on to the old man by the fireplace. _Butterbur won't fire me the first day, will he? Dad said that he was a nice man. _I couldn't help glancing back at the dwarves as the white-haired man took his fish from me with slow fingers. _How do they know so much about hobbits? Are we really so famous after what Dad and Frodo Baggins did? I know so little about dwarves and elves and men, even after all the great wars they have fought. But I want to know so much. _

The Fornost men seized my full attention as they clamored for their dishes. Despite their vigor, and the knobby sticks that they kept by their sides, they didn't strike me as vicious.

Carrying pitchers of the famous Prancing Pony beer kept me occupied for hours after that. No sooner had I finished going around the room than I had to start at the beginning again or fetch another pitcher.

Finally, when the room had half-cleared out, I got a chance to pour myself a mug of the beer. _Good. I doubt that it's really the best in the land, though. _I had a vision of myself stopping at every public house between Bree and the Emyn Muil. The vision only lasted for a moment, for I couldn't remember Dad telling me about any other pubs during his adventures.

_It must have been his stories that made me want to have my own adventures. _I still felt the bounce of his knee beneath me as he told me of the ring and of my namesake whom I would never meet, of orcs and beautiful elven women and crashing waterfalls. 'Dad,' I had protested. 'Rubus Bracegirdle said that hobbits aren't meant to have adventures. He says that you're not a very good hobbit.' My father had laughed heartily at my words. Then he had looked very seriously at me. 'Rubus Bracegirdle hasn't had any adventures, so he can't know. But these things were meant to happen to us. Maybe you're meant to have adventures too.'

"It warms my heart to see a hobbit, it does."

The bass voice interrupted my thoughts, and I jumped to see that two more customers had entered the Common Room. The first, a dwarf with a gray-streaked beard had stopped in front of me. I shivered. I couldn't see the dwarf's mouth to know if he was frowning or smiling, but he had stopped expectantly in front of me as if he was waiting on me. _Of course he is. _I chided myself as I took in his mud-stained cloak and pack. I did wonder why he was out so long after dark, but I dared not ask.

To my satisfaction, one of the other dwarves did. "What makes you travel so late, friends?"

His companion, a tall, fair elf, answered. "The sea. We have so much yet to see, but only as long as I can escape the call of the sea. We are traveling eastward with haste, only to strike the great Anduin."

He carried a note of contentment in his cheerless voice, in a way that I would never be able to explain to Rubus Bracegirdle or even to Fuzzy Proudfoot. I set two tall mugs of beer in front of them at the bar, and the dwarf thanked me.

I could see the elf's eyes scanning the room. Wondering what he was thinking, and if he had fought in the War of the Ring, I did the same. Few were left. The Fornost company had retired. So had the old man by the fireplace. Redbeard and Blackbeard still drained their mugs with alacrity and often talked loudly to each other in a tongue I did not know. A tall figure wrapped tightly in a cloak reclined against the wall near them, more likely asleep than awake. The last few others trickled out as they felt the elf's stare.

Butterbur himself bustled onto the room. His face was red, and he was puffing for breath. I had to assume that that was his natural state. "Bob! There you are, my boy. How 'bout fetching some pipe weed? The Southfarthing will do. We have such excellent guests tonight." He shooed me out even as I tried to protest that I had no idea where the pipe weed could be found. As I went, I heard him recommending the eel pie to the pair at the bar. "Better than anyone else's. How 'bout it. Eh? Goes right down."

I had just shut the first closet without finding the store of Southfarthing when I heard the front door of the Prancing Pony bang open. Someone stomped in, and I heard a murmur of voices from the Common Room. My curiosity got the better of me, and I abandoned my task to investigate.

"There are still some left?" Butterbur asked, his fat mouth hanging open.

The newcomer, a dark young man who was doubled over, threw up his hands. I saw a dagger flash at his waist, and I felt fascination gnawing at me. "All I know is that a pack of wargs followed right on the heels of my poor stallion for nearly half a league up the Greenway. I have never been so happy to get through a town's gates than I was to get through Bree's."

"Has Nob taken care of your horse?" Butterbur asked. His face changed. "Never mind. He goes home after dark now."

"I'll do it," I piped up.

It took me fifteen minutes to strip the saddle from the sweating beast and rub him down. The stallion was powerfully built but hardly flinched when I inspected his teeth. Still, I led him to the farthest stall from the only other horse in the stable his size. I knew that one had to belong to the elf. It was a white, graceful creature with eyes that seemed to look into mine with human intelligence.

_Amazing horses, giant wolves, dwarves, and elves all in one night! _Giddy with excitement, I swept back into the Common Room. Butterbur was busy wiping down the bar, but the guests, even the cloaked sleeper, had moved together at the large table.  
"You're all headed east in the morning," the elf said. "So are my friend and I. We've dealt with wargs before, even when orcs were riding them. If you will allow it, why should we not join together and travel in a group. There is nothing to fear by daylight, but you will find no city gates at night for many miles."

"I do not care to meet the wolves alone." The cloaked man stared around at them through two piercing green eyes, all that was visible through the brown garment.

"Dwarves would never fear wargs," Redbeard thundered. "But we would like your company, friends."

"Thank you," the dark man said simply.

I wanted to chime in, but it would mean giving up the job that me father's recommendation had just gotten for me. It would mean not seeing him or Mom or any of my brothers and sisters soon - or perhaps ever. _Of course I can't go, even with such an interesting company. Of course I won't._

Butterbur straightened with a sudden motion. "I had something to tell one of you…Or not to tell one of you…Or maybe to take from you." He scratched his mustache. "I'm simply too busy to remember." He hurried back toward the kitchen.

_He probably just wanted to get the pipe weed from me. _I turned, but the cloaked guest caught my arm with a tight, narrow grip. He leaned close even as my heart thumped in fear and I tried to pull away.

"I can feel it," came the gentle whisper. "Someone here is going to die tonight."


	2. The Journey Begins

I woke to the sound of banging on the door. I blinked in the early morning light and stumbled to the door of the tiny, hobbit-sized room. A white-haired hobbit stood in the passageway. I recognized him as Butterbur's stable hand and gardener, Nob. I felt like I'm almost at home, being woken by a hobbit just after sunrise. I stretched lazily and grinned. "Good morning. Is first breakfast ready?"

Nob frowned. "No. You have to go cook it."

"Oh." I looked around for my apron and realized that I was still wearing it. "I guess I just thought that Mr. Butterbur made that himself."

The older hobbit shrugged as I followed him through the hallway, past the closed doors of the inn's other rooms and the passageways that branch off at crazy angles, added on at various points in the Prancing Pony's long history. "You're right, Gamgee. I haven't seen Mr. Butterbur today, though."

I stared at the doorways, wondering which one belonged to him. All was quiet, though, until Nob left me, and I stood in the Prancing Pony's kitchen, looking around at the mass of cupboards. The red-bearded dwarf poked his head in. "Well, how about some breakfast, boy? A little bit of ham and bread and a mug of beer would set me straight. Look lively now! The Fornost party has already given up and left."

"Give me a few minutes." Fortunately, hobbits are always at home in a kitchen. It took some time to find all of Butterbur's supplies, but I soon had a fire blazing and bacon sizzling over it. A hurried meal made me feel more myself, but I was fast losing interest in my new employment already. There was little adventure to be found in a kitchen, even a big, cluttered one. And the interesting people were already leaving the inn.

Nob returned almost as soon as I had brought food to the hungry dwarf and his surly companion. He helped me carry the plates for the tall elf and the dwarf traveling with him, the only other guests in the Common Room. "You've got to come upstairs with me," he whispered. "Something's not right. Mr. Butterbur never rises this late, particularly when he has such distinguished guests.

I glanced at the busy diners. The two scarred dwarves didn't look very distinguished as they picked up eggs with their fingers and speared bacon with sharp, stained knives. I couldn't be sure about the gruff dwarf with the gray, streaked beard. He had a look of keen intelligence in his eyes that I saw whenever he looked at me. I understood what Nob meant when I looked at the elf, though. The tall, straight-backed, youthfully-faced figure had a serene presence. I couldn't quite explain it, since it was the first time that I had actually seen an elf, though I had heard enough of my father Samwise's stories to try. I couldn't call it a commanding presence. He watched Nob and I with alert eyes, and yet he seemed hazy, as if he were really somewhere else, just showing a reflection here in the Common Room of the Prancing Pony.

The elf stood now. "Why don't we all go check on Butterbur?" He smiled as if to reassure us that he couldn't help picking up whispers with his elven ears.

His dwarf friend drained his mug and stood. "Good man, that Butterbur, and good beer. It's a rare innkeeper who doesn't appear to collect from his guests when they leave."

The other two dwarves kept stuffing their faces and didn't make any move to come. Nob led the way, glancing nervously behind at his followers. "I knocked on his door, but he didn't come. There's no need for him to go anywhere. This is the axis of all Bree." I nodded and tried to remember the turns that we took. I never would have found the way to Butterbur's room on my own. Nob lowered his voice, but there was still a nervous squeak to it. "You should see the strong ponies that those two dwarves have. They're the kind that no hobbit would mind having: slow but sturdy." He quickly frowned as the seriousness of the situation returned. "I think he may be dead." Nob banged loudly on the door.

We heard nothing from within. Nob held up a great ring of keys that I had seen hanging under the bar. He fitted one into the lock and swung the door inward until it struck something.

Two bare feet hung off the bed. Nob bumped the door against them again, but the figure beneath the covers didn't move. He shuddered and backed away. I stood out of the way on shaky legs as the elf pushed forward, with his dwarf friend right behind him.

Someone had ransacked the room. I could tell it from just a glance. Trunks and cabinets hung open. Monogrammed bridles, folded-up cloaks, silver trinkets, and all the bric-a –brac that travelers had forgotten in the inn for years was scattered across the floor and across the bed, right over the hump that had to be the body of old Butterbur.

To my discredit, I threw up. _Or is that to my credit? _Whichever it was, no one seemed to notice. Nob was leaning against the wall, rather pale looking. As I watched, he straightened up and headed down the hall.

"He's going home, possibly for forever."

I stared at the elf. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that old Butterbur was the Prancing Pony. Nob has a family to spend day and night with now."

I nodded. _Yes, even I can see that there would be no more Prancing Pony without Butterbur. But what happens to me now?_

The dwarf pushed the innkeeper's feet onto the bed and covered them. "Who else knows about this, hobbit?"

I shrugged, feeling a bit less nauseous now that I couldn't see the man's feet anymore. "No one, I guess. I mean, everyone can see that they didn't see him. Err…"

The dwarf chuckled, surprising me. "What's your name?"

"Frodo."

They both looked sharply at me. "What did you say? You're mumbling."

My voice got quieter without my realizing it. "My name is Frodo. Frodo Gamgee."

The dwarf laughed then and clapped me on the shoulder rather solidly. "I should have guessed, young fellow like you out of the shire at such a young age. You're Samwise's son."

I knew who they were. My father had told me about Legolas and Gimli in his stories. He'd told us about their unusual friendship and of the great warriors they had shown themselves to be in the War of the Ring. I hardly listened as they introduced themselves, but I at least realized that my mouth was hanging open. I shut it quickly.

"Just stick with us, lad," Gimli admonished. "We'll get this matter straightened out."

He led the way back to the Common Room. I didn't have to be encouraged to stick with them. _Now I know that I've found my ticket to adventure. Forget this dusty old inn! Here are two famous warriors!_

The two dwarves with tangled beards were lugging massive packs toward the front door of the inn. They stopped when they saw the serious faces of Legolas and Gimli. "Don't tell me that you two fellows aren't packed yet. It's practically midmorning."

"Plans change," Legolas declared in a voice that was none too friendly. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that he despised dwarves in general. "Butterbur has been stabbed to death."

Neither dwarf blinked. "That's too bad," the redbearded one grunted. "He made good beer." The flap of his pack hung open as he adjusted it on his back, and I saw row upon row of shining daggers.

"You come from the Iron Hills?" Gimli challenged.

"Maybe we do. Maybe we don't," the blackbearded dwarf snarled.

"Do you have hearts of iron there too?"

"What's going on?" The dark traveler who had brought news of wargs strode into the room. He wore a traveling cloak and freshly-shined boots. The sleeper, still dressed in a cloak and hood came behind him.

"Somebody killed the innkeep," Redbeard summarized. "The elf wants to stay and have a funeral or something." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Noril and I can take care of a few wargs on our own." They headed out of the door.

The hooded man grunted in frustration. "You promised to ride with us." He shook a finger toward Legolas and Gimli. "Last night, you promised to ride this morning."

Legolas didn't back down. "Last night, Butterbur was glowing with gossip. Today he is dead. Gimli and I fought to bring peace to this land, and I do not want to let a murderer go free."

The traveler shrugged and walked through the door. "Oh, well. My business is urgent, and I am going today. You swore to come with me."

The dark man started to follow, then hesitated. "I wish that I could help, but I slept soundly last night. I heard nothing. I saw nothing." He gave a half-bow and put a hand on his chest. "My name is Ruroth, of Near Harad. I am a free man, since the dark lord's fall. I have no ill will toward anyone in Bree, least of all to a breathless old gossip. But I cannot stay. I wish you well on your search, and if you decide to leave payment to the dead man, drop in a little for me." He grinned and walked out of the inn.

"A poor set of traveling companions that is," Gimli growled. "As likely to stab someone else in the back as not."

Legolas shook his head. "After all these years, I still haven't learned to not bind myself by my word to scoundrels."

"So you're going with them right now?" I was stunned.

"You are not," Legolas said. "Find Nob's house. He can take you back to the Shire."

That wasn't what I wanted at all. "I want to come with you."

"Do you want to get yourself killed?" Gimli demanded. "One of them, more than likely, killed Butterbur, just to find something that he had. Let's not dangle Butterbur's helper under his nose."

"Well, I can't stay here," I said. I felt impressed by my own loudness and by the firmness with which I set my feet. _If only father could see me now! _Well, I wasn't sure that he'd be proud, but I hoped so. "I can't stay here, and I won't go to Nob. I won't."

"Nob is a good hobbit," Legolas told me.

I didn't want any more good hobbits. The Sandymans and the Proudfeet and Bracegirdles and all the other clans that never did anything remarkable were good hobbits. I wasn't.

The elf and the dwarf could see that nothing had changed my mind. "Well, come now," Gimli barked. "We can't stand around all day. We'll just send word by Nob to Samwise that his son is an obstinate fool and we'll bring him home soon."

In a matter of minutes, the company was ready. Legolas and Gimli had seated themselves on their tall horse. The fat ponies of the dwarves held them up with their heavy saddlebags as if they were light as air. And the Southron Ruroth sat on his proud stallion at the front of the party, hardly looking like a man afraid of wargs.

I looked into the stables and found them empty. Legolas caught my eye and nodded to the hooded figure, seated bareback on an ordinary-looking splotched mare.

"Er, sir?" I swallowed

He nodded good-naturedly. "She can carry us both. You can ride with me." Catching hold of the man's outstretched hand, I pulled myself onto the horse.

I looked back at Bree as we trotted away from the town on the eastward road. _When my feet touch down again, it will be on strange soil. _I couldn't help but wonder if I was more foolish than any hobbit who had ever lived.


End file.
